


The Snow Came Down

by maniacalchimera



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Characters Tagged As They Appear, Christmas, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Swearing, because all my characters are sailors no matter the story, same with relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalchimera/pseuds/maniacalchimera
Summary: A daily collection of Christmas-themed drabbles for the season.
Relationships: Aeleus & Ansem the Wise | DiZ & Dilan & Even & Ienzo, Ansem Seeker of Darkness | Xehanort's Heartless & Xemnas, Axel & Roxas & Saïx & Xion (Kingdom Hearts), Axel/Saïx (Kingdom Hearts), Demyx & Naminé (Kingdom Hearts), Dilan/Even (Kingdom Hearts), Isa/Lea (Kingdom Hearts), Kairi/Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Naminé/Xion (Kingdom Hearts), Vanitas/Ventus (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	1. White Christmas

Tucked away in a nest of evergreens, the gummi ship makes its landing. It thumps against the ground, muffled by piles of powdery white. Sora looks up from the pilot’s seat and grins. The endless forest is spread in front of him, the perfect sea of winter.

“Sora!”

He looks back, towards the ladder down into the hull. “Are we allowed to look yet?” Kairi’s voice echoes upward.

“No!” Sora hops off his seat and slaps the gummi ship door open as he passes it. Bitter wind whips through the cockpit, but it only makes his grin wider. “Come up the ladder, but close your eyes as soon as you get up here, got it?”

He peers down into the hull, where Kairi and Riku are at the bottom of the ladder, both staring up at him. “Demanding, aren’t you?” Riku says, smirking.

“A little bit,” Sora says with a shrug. “Hurry up!”

He steps back as Kairi comes up first. She’s the one to worry about, always headstrong and hard to surprise, but her eyes immediately close as she steps into the cockpit and they’re safe for now. “Geez, Sora,” she says, “are you blasting the AC up here?”

Sora reaches for her hands and pulls her out of the way to make room for Riku. “I was getting a little too hot with all the flying.”

“You? Too hot?” Riku hefts himself up from the ladder, eyes closed already. “You’re always the last one out of the sun and you won’t even put on sunscreen. Too hot my ass.”

Sora laughs as he reaches to grab Riku’s arm as well. “Not all of us are pasty white like you, Riku!”

“Skin cancer waits for no one!”

“Save the argument for the next beach day, guys.” Kairi taps her heels against the ground. “I wanna see this surprise!”

“Alright, alright, we’re moving!” Sora keeps his grip on each of their hands tight and leads them towards the open door. He only lets go once they’re both in front of it, shifting them so they face outward. “Okay,” he says, stepping out of the way, “you can look now!”

He doesn’t see them open their eyes, but he can see Riku shift back, hear Kairi gasp. “Oh,” she says. _“Oh._ This is—”

“You haven’t seen snow since you were really little, right, Kairi?” Sora smiles, wide enough to hurt his cheeks; though that might also be the wind, still harsh like bitter frost through the door. “All we ever have on the islands are green Christmases, so I wanted to go somewhere a little more wintery this year!”

Kairi turns and the sparkle in her eyes is exactly what Sora wanted. “Oh, Sora,” she sighs, “it’s _beautiful!”_

“And absolutely freezing.” Riku turns as well. He’s smiling, too, even if his arms are crossed like he’s trying to be annoyed. “You didn’t tell me this was a trip that required appropriate dresswear.”

“Appropriate dresswear?” Sora echoes. “I think you’re dressed exactly appropriately.” He gives barely two seconds’ warning before shoving Riku out the door. The light _thumpfh_ of the snow is satisfying, almost as much as Riku’s squawk on his way down.

_“Sora!”_

Kairi is polite enough to hide her laugh behind a hand. “Don’t you try that with me, Sora,” she says. “I _will_ kick your ass.”

“You’re gonna kick my ass anyway,” Sora says. “I want to have a snowball fight even if I know you’re gonna win. But first—!” He turns back to the seats and tugs out a box from underneath one of them. “I did bring coats and mittens. This place sucks frozen balls without them.”

“Oh no fucking kidding.” Riku stands and shakes the snow out of his hair.

Sora snorts and tosses a hat out the door at him. “Merry Christmas, Riku!”

“Move it, and close the damn door until we get changed!”

Sora reaches’ for Kairi’s hand and tugs her back as Riku moves inside and shuts the door again. Kairi turns and leans up to kiss Sora’s cheek. “Thanks, Sora,” she says. “This is really sweet.”

“You wouldn’t think so if you just got shoved into the snow in shorts.” Riku ruffles Sora’s hair as he passes to get to the box of clothes.

“I did bring hot chocolate for afterwards,” Sora calls.

Riku looks back over his shoulder. “Okay,” he says, “maybe you _do_ love me, too.”

Kairi laughs and lets go of Sora’s hand to join Riku at the box. “Oh good,” she says with a grin, “he packed a marshmallow coat, just for you.”

“I am _not_ wearing that thing.”

Sora smiles as the two of them shove clothing at each other and looks out the window, where snow is starting to drift down between the branches of the pine trees. It’s going to be an excellent Christmas this year, and the first of many, many more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've recently found that I can't eat chocolate without it killing my teeth. This has brought my plans to buy myself an advent calendar this year to a grinding halt. Instead, I'm going to make my own advent calendar, for you guys to open up, and find some silly Christmas bullshit behind every day.  
> Enjoy some chocolate for me, too :(


	2. Let It Snow

Ienzo has been patient all day. He’s been on his best behavior, keeping quiet while the grown-ups worked, not touching anything in the lab even if a couple times he really, really wanted to. Ienzo has been a perfect little boy since he got up this morning and he is becoming a little bit tired of waiting for his reward.

“Please?” he begs again. “Please, please, _please?_ You promised! You said after dinner! I ate all my vegetables and everything!” He tugs on the sleeve of Even’s sweater once again, determined to get some kind of response.

Even doesn’t even look down. “Ienzo,” he says sternly. “I’m still finishing my coffee. Don’t be rude.”

“But you said!”

“I said after dinner, Ienzo.” He lifts an eyebrow, finally looking at the boy from the corner of his eye. “I’m not done dinner yet.”

Ienzo drops Even’s arm to cross his own. He puts on his best pouting face. “Coffee isn’t dinner,” he huffs. “Coffee is dessert. It’s different.”

“He does have a point.” Dilan leans back in his chair exactly like Even has told him not to do, balancing on its back legs. “You’re always telling him that desserts aren’t a part of dinner.”

Even sets his mug down and glares across the table at him. “Do not reward him for his impatience,” he says.

“I’m rewarding him for poking holes in your logic.” The chair smacks back to the floor and Dilan reaches out an arm towards Ienzo. “C’mere, kiddo.”

Ienzo hurries over and hoists himself up onto Dilan’s lap. “What about _your_ coffee?” he asks, little hands reaching for the cup.

“I have two hands, I can drink it on the way.” Dilan picks the mug up and takes a sip. It smells good, very strong, but Ienzo knows that Dilan’s always tastes bitter, not like Even’s with sugar and milk and sometimes chocolate while Aeleus isn’t looking. “Even can drink his on the way, too,” Dilan continues. “We did promise you a show.”

“You’re enabling him,” Even sighs, but he stands up and Ienzo starts to bounce on Dilan’s lap.

“Outside, right?” he asks, patting his hands against Dilan’s knee. “You said we’re going outside?”

Dilan takes a larger sip, practically draining the cup. “Yes, we’re going to go outside. So you need your coat, okay?”

“Okay!” Ienzo hops off without any more encouragement, hurrying out of the kitchen.

“We’ll be there in just a minute, Ienzo!” Even calls after him. “Don’t go outside without us!”

Ienzo doesn’t stop or even slow to look back. “Got it!” he shouts. He’s been told many times not to run in the castle’s hallways, but he’s been behaving _really well_ today so he thinks it’s okay to bend that rule just a bit. He dashes all the way to the back door and yanks his coat from the hooks to shove over his arms. Zipped up, gloves tugged from his pockets and onto his fingers, and Ienzo waits with hands pressed at the door and eyes wide with excitement.

It takes too long for footsteps to follow after him, but they do get there eventually and Ienzo turns to look once they’re close enough behind him. “I’m ready!” he says.

“We can certainly see that.” Even’s brought his coffee mug with him. “You have your mittens? How about a scarf?”

“Oh, don’t worry so much about it.” Dilan reaches and hefts Ienzo onto his shoulders, earning himself a fit of giggles. “He’s bundled up plenty.”

Even glares from where he’s grabbing his own jacket off the hook. “And don’t tell me that’s all _you’re_ going out in.”

“I don’t get that cold.” Dilan tips his head and grins up at his passenger. “Ready, Ienzo?” he asks, cutting off any further argument.

“Yeah!” Ienzo throws his hands up in the air. “Snow, snow, snow!”

Dilan laughs and opens the door out into the gardens. The air is cold, practically crackling with ice, but the trees and the grass are dry and bare. Ienzo quiets for a moment and looks up at the clear, starry sky. “…you promise this is going to work?” he asks, and his voice is softer now.

Dilan’s hand comes up to ruffle his hair. “I promise,” he says. “We told you there was going to be snow for your first Christmas here, right? Even and I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Ienzo gives a solemn nod. Even and Dilan are good grown-ups, ones who never lie and who make sure things are actually okay instead of just saying they are. Everyone in the castle is: Master Ansem is a good grown-up even if he’s busy a lot, and Braig is one even if he’s weird when he tries to be funny, and Aeleus, Aeleus hasn’t been here that long yet but he has the softest smiles and Ienzo thinks he’s got to be one, too. Even and Dilan, though—they’re the best kind of grown-ups. They’re going to make it _snow_ for him.

Even meets them in the middle of the garden, properly bundled in coat, hat, and scarf. He looks at Dilan, in his t-shirt and jeans, and rolls his eyes. “Alright,” he says. “Are we ready?”

“Yeah!” Ienzo exclaims with all his energy returned. Dilan chuckles and reaches up for him.

“Okay. Go sit on the bench, there, alright? I can’t be making winds with you there to get blown off my shoulders.”

Ienzo’s feet hit the ground and he scurries over to the bench. He hops up and kicks his feet, a good half a foot off the ground. Eyes sparkling like snowflakes, he waits with what little patience he’s saved for this moment.

Dilan takes a step back to Even’s side and nods. He raises both hands slightly in front of him and a chilled breeze begins to blow. It starts gentle, just enough to lift their hair; but it builds quickly, and soon the trees are waving too, wind howling between their branches. Ienzo grips the bench tight, anchoring himself against the gale, and watches intently as Even, too, begins to move.

One of Even’s hands reaches for Dilan’s arm; the other rests in front of his chest, cupped around a soft white glow that forms from the air. He shuts his eyes, and the glow shine brighter, bits of it whipping off its center and flying away with the wind. One speck of white hits Ienzo’s face, cold for the briefest moment before it melts away. He gasps and leans forward. More and more flecks of snow fling themselves into the air, and the icy energy in Even’s hand grows larger, brighter; until finally, he thrusts it upwards into the air, where it explodes in light and white powder. The snow falls to the ground, quickly and with no end in sight, and Ienzo jumps to his feet with a loud cheer.

Even slumps into Dilan’s side. “This stuff better stick for at least a week,” he mutters.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna be gripping me like death. Your hands are freezing, geddoff.” Dilan takes Even’s wrist and tugs it from his arm, but then keeps his hands there, wrapped around Even’s.

The snow is building at a pace only magic can bring and Ienzo spins with the wind, both hands up to catch the flakes. He laughs as they hit his face and stick in his hair. It’s perfect, more perfect than he was even imagining. He turns to the men he almost, almost wants to call his dads and runs towards them, kicking up snow on his way.

“Thank you! Thank you, Even, Dilan!” He grabs their arms with each hand and smiles until he can feel the snow hit his teeth.

Even’s free hand comes to rest on his shoulder, cold but not unpleasantly so. “Of course, Ienzo,” he says. “You like it?”

“Yes!” Ienzo bounces in the snow and then pulls his hands back to instead hug them both, much as he can reach. “Thank you!” he says again. “I love you!”

Even makes a sound, like he’s trying to say something, but it’s Dilan who reaches down and presses a kiss into Ienzo’s hair. “Love you too, kiddo,” he says. “Now go on, go play before it gets too cold and Even drags us both back inside.”

“Maybe if you’d put on a coat,” Even mutters, hiding a bright red face in Dilan’s shoulder.

Ienzo lets go and laughs, running back towards the bench and the large snowbanks forming around it. “I’m gonna make a snowman! Oh, and, and snow angels, and a fort! It’s gonna have snow guards and everything, right here!” He jumps into one of the banks and throws some of the snow into the air, then drops onto his back. He looks up into the winter sky and the stars and the snowflakes are almost indistinguishable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It snowed today!! It's not nearly as pretty with all the roads. Also I know there's only really mentions of Aeleus but I promise there will be further drabbles with this family, they're my favorite and my dad-shipping self cannot be stopped.


	3. In the Bleak Midwinter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions and implications of abuse. None occurs in the chapter, but Vanitas thinks about it quite a bit.

This world sucks. The snow here chills him to the bone, even through the dumb black cloak. The sun does nothing to warm him, simply reflects against the bright white ground in its best attempt to be as blinding as possible. It’s doing a pretty good job; not even the dark sheen of his mask can protect him from such sharp, overpowering light.

Vanitas wishes more than anything that he was back in the graveyard, in the dusty warmth he knows so well. But his master ordered this, ordered him here, and so he must obey.

And, unfortunately, he has an escort, so he can’t even fuck around with anything to make this mission more bearable. Vanitas glances behind him, at the other cloaked figure. The young version of his master can be imposing, but not nearly as much so as his older self. He speaks more, somehow says less. He has power and knows it, but much of it comes not from himself but from who he will become, and he takes far too much confidence in it. Vanitas hates it, that he has to work for his power, stuff himself to the brim with pain and negativity while this fuckhead can just exist, with his stupid god-given gifts and neon Keyblade and pompous attitude.

This fuckhead is still his master, though, in as diminished a form as he may be, and so Vanitas, regrettably, has to listen to him.

The younger Xehanort turns, as if he can feel Vanitas’s eyes even through the mask. He lifts an eyebrow. “Well,” he says. “I do not believe we will be finding any Princesses of Light hidden in the snow banks.”

“People tend to congregate in towns, _Master.”_ It tastes like oil on his tongue and Vanitas is free to make a face. Somehow his real master always knows, but this young one has yet to hone the power to read through his mask and so Vanitas is safe for now.

Xehanort huffs, his lips quirking upward. “I suppose they do,” he says. “There is a town here, down by the side of the lake, but it’s a far walk.”

“We don’t need to walk,” Vanitas says, and he doesn’t add _idiot_ for fear of retribution but is brave enough to imply it in his tone.

“I know.” Xehanort shoves his hands into his pockets. “But I already expended the effort with the dark portal to bring us here. I’m not quite ready to make another one.”

And this man becomes the all-powerful Master Xehanort, seeker of darkness and bane of the Light. Vanitas chokes his sigh before it becomes audible. “I can make us one,” he says.

Xehanort tilts his head, strands of hair falling in his face. Gods, Vanitas is glad his hair didn’t turn that ghastly shade of white. “You’re very action-oriented, aren’t you, Vanitas?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” It snaps out before Vanitas thinks and he steps back, quickly correcting himself. “Is it a bad thing to be?”

“No.” Xehanort looks back over the snowy hills. “But sometimes patience is a virtue. Action is action is action, but you need to recover the energy somehow.”

“Surely my master filled you in,” Vanitas says. “My energy comes from darkness, from negative emotions. I was born from them. I will never run out.”

“Right, of course. He created you to keep running and running, forever.” Xehanort glances at him from the corner of his eye. “Probably compensating for the fact that he can’t take three steps without needing to catch his breath.”

Vanitas chokes on something not quite a laugh, more a sound of shock. “He is not that old!”

“Oh he so is.” Xehanort rolls his eyes. “I’m a little pissed that I’m not going to remember this when I get sent back to my time. I’d like to be able to work on the balding problem I clearly have before it becomes—that.” He waves a hand in front of him, disgusted.

Vanitas struggles for words for a moment. “He—you should show him more respect than that,” he decides at last. “He’s the most powerful Keyblade wielder of our time!”

“Of your time,” Xehanort corrects. “He’s also the most obnoxious one. Clearly he’s losing brain cells along with his hair follicles, because I’m supposed to be not nearly as wise as him and I can count more holes in this stupid plan of his than stars in the sky. The Princesses of Heart? Really, we’re wasting our effort on those, when they barely worked last time, didn’t even bring him to the real Kingdom Hearts? It’s pointless.” Xehanort sits down in the snow. “Let one of the other weirdos he’s grabbing find the pure heart in this world. My efforts are better spent elsewhere and right now, I’m taking a break. You should too.”

Vanitas stares at him, and for once his mask doesn’t get in the way because it’s about as blank as his face. “…he’s going to punish us, when we fail to find the princess.”

“What’s he gonna do, kill me?” Xehanort scoffs. “Fucker can try. Come on, the whole rest of this Organization is bumbling idiots. I walked in on the two halves of myself comparing tit sizes. Old me is fucking _spoiled_ by my competence.” He pats the snow beside him. “Save the brooding for the graveyard where it’ll at least look cool. If you’re _really_ worried he’ll be mad, I’ll cover for you.”

“That’s not…how it works.” But Vanitas sits, slowly, and immediately regrets it. His ass is going to freeze.

Xehanort shrugs. “Look,” he says, “I’m not gonna go out of my way to call out my bullshit to old me’s face, it’s not worth my time. But if he’s seriously gonna get pissed at you for ‘failing’ one job while we’ve got people like, fucking, guitar boy lounging around and eyepatch gallivanting off to do…whatever the fuck he’s doing? Yeah, I’ll say something. You’re one of the only other fuckers in this group that’s proven he can do shit. Old me should be able to see that.” His lips purse. “Unless his vision’s failing, too.”

Vanitas stays quiet, fingers twitching in the snow. He forces the unnamed feelings bubbling in his chest to stay within him, because he’s not quite sure what Unversed they’d let out. Once again, the young Xehanort has spoken quite a bit; but it’s not the same as his performances in front of the rest of their Organization, bloated and hollow. ‘Genuine’ is not a term Vanitas would think to apply to a Xehanort, and so he doesn’t; but it might be something close.

“You know?” Vanitas looks towards him. Xehanort’s eyes are to the sky. “I never saw snow until I started my training,” he continues. “The islands I’m from were too hot. We never got anything but rain. The first time I saw it…” His lips quirk into something too soft to be a grin, but too sad to be a smile. “It was like being a little kid again. You don’t really think about it, that some people never leave their worlds, never see a different season.” He turns his head again, and this time, the gold of his eyes looks less natural, like it shouldn’t be there. “How about you?” he asks. “You ever see snow before this? That graveyard’s pretty much the antithesis of winter.”

At first, Vanitas doesn’t answer, in case it’s some kind of trap. He’ll show the smallest crack in the mask, the slightest vulnerability, and the young master will turn, snap like a hidden snake and throw him to his true master like garbage. But Xehanort keeps looking at him, waiting, and so Vanitas speaks. “…I did see snow before,” he says, “before all of this. Back when…I was Ventus.”

Xehanort hums but, for once, doesn’t say anything. The silence hangs in the air like ice and it doesn’t take as long this time for Vanitas to shatter it. “They’re like, ghost memories,” he continues. “I can feel them, even if they’re not entirely clear. There’s a town, covered in frost, and other people laughing and building things, throwing snowballs. And it’s me, I’m with them, but it’s also not me. Are they really my memories? Was I really there? Maybe I wasn’t, maybe I haven’t seen snow until now. I don’t really know.”

He rests his hands on his knees and looks down the powder-white hills. It’d be perfect for sledding, another memory that feels trapped away, like a cloud waiting to part for the whole he will never again be.

Xehanort shifts beside him, the swish of leather softer with the snow. “Hey,” he says. “If you make memories with it now, they’re entirely yours, right?”

Vanitas looks back from the snow banks. “…yeah, I guess so,” he says. He wants to argue that it’s not really worth it. What is he but a shadow, barely a scrap of his own person? Is he truly deserving of his own memories? There have been none, since the end of _Ventus,_ that he’d consider precious enough to keep, all just a blur of dirt, pain, sand, wind, more pain, sharp golden eyes. What good would one speck of snowy memory do?

But Xehanort speaks before he can keep going. “Excellent,” he says, and for a moment his grin turns to something malicious, something Vanitas has seen too often echoed in an older, harsher face. “We’ll start now.” He whips his arm forward, and Vanitas winces, swears he can see the flash of a Keyblade.

Instead, a ball of snow splatters across his mask. Vanitas hisses out a breath, watching the chunks of powder slide over his vision. “…you motherfucker.”

Xehanort laughs, scrambling to his feet and kicking up snow as he does. “Come on! It didn’t really hit you, you’ve got that stupid mask on!”

Vanitas already has a snowball in his hand. “You won’t think the mask is so stupid when I soak your fucking face!” He tosses it, but Xehanort moves and half-trips going down the hill, dodging the shot but nearly eating snow in the process.

“Bet you can’t!” He sticks out his tongue, and with his eyes closed, with the gold washed away, Vanitas can forget it, that this is the man, the kid who grows up to be his cold, cruel master. “You’ll have to catch me first!” Xehanort calls, and he runs down the hill towards the deeper banks.

“Fucker!” Vanitas hops to his feet, scooping up an armful of snow to use as ammunition. “I’ll show you a real snowball fight!”

“Hit me then!” Xehanort laughs, and Vanitas chooses to keep forgetting, and make new memories instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one got away from me a little bit. Like, is it Christmas themed? Is it REALLY Christmas themed? I don't care, I wanted all of these to be canonverse so if I want my Xehanort brothers content I'm gonna have to bend some things.  
> Yes. Yes, there will be Ansem and Xemnas content in the future. YES, it may involve tit sizes.


	4. The More You Give

In theory, the Sorta-Sora pollyanna was a great idea. Sure, it took a ton of convincing to get Vanitas in on it, and Kairi complained quite a bit when she was told she wasn’t really “Sora” enough to be included, but overall the name-picking went smoothly and no one complained about their assignments and somehow, they managed to get together a nice little pile of presents, set aside by the fireplace for the appointed time of opening.

So yes, in theory, the Sorta-Sora pollyanna is great. It’s gone spectacularly. But nothing has been opened yet and Xion can’t keep herself from glancing at the pile, looking at one present in particular and _worrying._

It’s bigger than the others, pushed to the back for its size and still towering over the rest of the pile. It’s wrapped in innocuous blue paper, dotted with dogs wearing Santa hats and ice skates. She and Roxas argued over who got to use it, since they didn’t want their pollyanna gifts to match, and after multiple rounds of rock-paper-scissors Xion was declare the winner. Now, she almost wishes she’d used Roxas’s more subtle red-and-green stripes. It’d still stick out, but maybe not as poorly.

Xion clasps her hands together in her lap and blows out an anxious breath. Most everyone has finished up dinner, only a couple people left at the table and fewer still with plates. Naminé is near the end, sitting next to Demyx who is definitely on his third plate and laughing as he builds a snowman from mashed potatoes. Xion immediately snaps her eyes back to the pollyanna pile; somehow, that’s easier to look at.

It’ll be fine, she tells herself—in her mind, it sounds like Roxas’s voice, because he said it to her at least five times as they were getting ready to leave. She’ll love it, it’s really thoughtful, you’re always so thoughtful, Xion. Xion groans and shoves her hands through her hair. Too thoughtful, she thinks—her mind is buzzing with them.

“Hey!” Sora’s cheerful voice is easy to pick out even over the rest of the activity. “We should do the pollyanna now, before everyone makes a mess with the other presents!”

_Ah, shit,_ Xion thinks, even as most everyone else voices agreement. She stays on the sofa and lets the rest of the group move around her as the floor is cleared for the presents. What if hers goes last, she thinks suddenly, because it’s so big? What if she has to wait through everyone else’s—and, with hers last, there’s no concealing her identity! Ventus and Vanitas are moving the pile closer to the center and she can’t help but wince as one of the smaller gifts is tugged away and sends hers toppling over. Vanitas catches it, nothing breaks, but the breath in her chest doesn’t get any lighter.

The cushions shift as someone sits down next to her, and Xion looks up. _Ah, shit,_ she thinks again, and this time her cheeks feel a little warm. Naminé smiles at her. “Hi, Xion,” she says. “Are you okay? You’ve been kinda quiet.”

Busted, so busted. Xion rubs at her nose. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she lies quickly. “It’s just been…a little overwhelming here.”

Naminé nods. “I’m surprised we all fit in here, but I guess DiZ has a big castle for a reason.” It certainly was the best space they had to host a Christmas party, with how many of them they had to account for. “After gifts,” Naminé says, “we can go out to the gardens, if you want. Ienzo said his dads decorated, and I want to see it with all the snow!”

“Oh, you mean—?” Xion cuts herself off, because saying ‘together’ sounds incredibly stupid and ‘alone’ horrifically so. “Outside, right. I’d, uh, yeah, we should do that.”

Naminé giggles and it’s a little too much for Xion’s poor, already heat-filled face to take. Thankfully, Sora is there to save her before things get any worse.

“Let’s get started!” he says from beside the present pile. “Everyone’s here? Okay, let’s start with…this one! It’s for you, Naminé!”

Or doom her, Sora could indeed be here to doom her. Xion holds the harsh feeling stuck in her throat and stays quiet as Sora picks up the largest present and hefts it over to them. “Here you go!” he says, and when he sets it on Naminé’s lap, a good chunk of it rests across Xion’s as well.

“Oh,” Naminé says softly, hands going lightly over her mouth, “the big one is mine?” She very daintily brings her hands down and onto the wrapping paper, then turns and looks at Xion. “Help me unwrap it!”

Xion swallows down the spikes with a painful gulp and says, “Sure.” She tugs at the seam of the wrapping paper, and despite her enthusiastic tape job, they manage to get it open fairly quickly.

Naminé’s hands go right back up to her face. “No way!” she gasps. “Who got this? Who was my pollyanna?”

Slowly, Xion pulls her hand from atop the metal easel’s box and lifts it. She waits for Naminé to catch her eye before she speaks. “I know you use more colored pencils,” she says, “but I heard you say you wanted to try out painting and I’m pretty sure this is one of the most important parts, besides, like, the paint, so hopefully—”

“It’s perfect!” Naminé’s arms wrap around Xion’s shoulders, nearly knocking both her and the easel over. “Thank you so much, Xion!”

Xion’s face has gone a bright red and she’s positive Naminé can feel it radiating with warmth, but she turns to return the hug. “Merry Christmas, Naminé,” she says. “I’m really glad you like it.”

“Oh come _on!”_ It’s Roxas’s voice and Xion knocks her head against Naminé’s trying to look up. “How come you picked that gift first, Sora? Now all the rest of ours are going to look bad!”

“How was I supposed to know what was in it?” Sora snaps back.

“It was the biggest one, of course it was going to be something good!”

Naminé laughs and pulls her arms away, but she bumps their shoulders together before she entirely sits back. “It’s a great gift,” she says, smiling.

“Thank you.” Xion pushes some of the hair from the back of her neck, but she does look up, meet Naminé’s eyes and smile back. Sora is already reaching for the next present, shaking it in Roxas’s face to see if it meets his criteria, and the night is moving on; but for a moment, Xion is simply here, with Naminé, a shared gift in their laps, and a smiling face, just for her.

And a promise to go out to the gardens together, after this. _Ah, shit,_ Xion thinks, once again, and certainly not for the last time tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not for the life of me figure out a title for this chapter, but as I was typing it into Word, the messianic figure of Micheal Buble parted the clouds with his heavenly light, took my hand, and said, "My child. Did you know there's a Christmas song of mine you haven't heard yet?"  
> It's not a bad song, actually. Pretty upbeat.  
> Anyway, apologies for the late and sort of lackluster chapter. Unfortunately, tomorrow's is probably going to be late and sort of lackluster, too. Work took a giant boot to my butt the past couple of days :P  
> For Xion, her pollyanna was Vanitas. Vanitas wanted to get her a dog, but due to the spending limit on the pollyanna and interference from Lea and Isa, he decided to get her a large, fluffy sweatshirt instead, with cute pawprints. She loved it, and wore it out to her garden date with Namine that night.


	5. Rockin Around the Christmas Tree

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on!” Roxas takes another step towards the Christmas tree, since he knows there’s less a chance of a Fira spell being used on him if the branches could catch fire as well. “Xion picked it out, we have to use it!”

“I don’t care which of you picked the damn thing out.” Axel crosses his arms, glaring with an intensity that brings Roxas back to their days in the Organization. “I am _not_ putting that on the tree.”

Roxas clutches the ornament tighter in his grip, the string wrapped between his fingers. It’s a hedgehog, a tiny head in a large, puffy body, with fur all colored red. Beneath its eyes are two purple teardrops, obviously added. “You’re a spoilsport,” Roxas huffs. “I think it should go there!”

“No. It’s stupid, it’s stupid and I hate it.”

“You use words so well, Lea.” Isa stops behind the couch and turns to lean over it. “What are we arguing about?”

Axel turns only about halfway, like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off Roxas. It’s probably not a baseless fear, because Roxas is definitely planning on hiding the thing deep in the tree if it’s not up by the end of the night. “Roxas is trying to twist the spirit of the holiday into an opportunity to mock me,” Axel says. “Look at it this way, Roxas, it’s like if Hayner tried to put a Pomeranian ornament with fucking, drawn-on angry eyebrows onto the tree. You’d hate that, right?”

“It’s not the same,” Roxas argues, even though it’s probably exactly the same. Would he withstand a Pomeranian ornament if it meant getting the hedgehog on the tree? Yes, for about a night before the thing met with an unfortunate accident. _“This_ is actually funny.”

“What is it?” Isa asks, leaning closer.

“If you wore your _glasses…_ ” Axel starts, but Roxas interrupts immediately because he _knows_ that tangent is going to throw things completely off the rails and he promised Xion he’d try to negotiate before they forced their hand.

“It’s a hedgehog.” He lifts it into better light so that Isa can see it. “Xion picked it out because it’s perfect, right? And now Axel won’t let us put it on the tree.”

Isa squints a little, then stands back and nods. “Ah,” he says. “That’s rather cute.”

“It is not!” Axel reaches over the couch and shoves at his shoulder. “It’s a fucking, rude ass caricature of me. You can’t see it, they drew my old eye tattoos on it, this is a _targeted attack.”_

Roxas rolls his eyes. “Oh come on. You’re being way dramatic. I’m not saying we should put it up where the goddamn star is supposed to go, I’m just saying I want it—hey!” Axel has decided to go on the offensive, and he lunges for the ornament, barely missing as Roxas dodges and zips to the other side of the tree. “Jackass!”

“I’m gonna shove that damn thing where it really belongs, you little shit!” Axel reaches again, jangling a couple of the ornaments as he shoves past them.

“Oh, for Light’s sake—children!” Isa moves around the sofa. “Roxas, give it here, since we can’t seem to be mature about things.”

Ugh, Isa, always trying to be the voice of reason. But Roxas can only juggle himself around the Christmas tree so much and out of the two, Roxas would prefer the ornament in Isa’s hands, where it at least will not be smashed or perhaps turned into a deadly weapon. He hands the hedgehog over. “I’m being plenty mature,” he argues. “He’s the one trying to start a fight.”

“I’ll fucking finish one, too!”

With the ornament in one hand, Isa reaches for the other and gets Axel by the scarf. “Don’t threaten him over a stupid ornament.”

“He’s threatened me over less,” Axel snaps back.

Isa rolls his eyes. “Roxas isn’t going to put the hedgehog on the tree,” he says. “Stop complaining about it. I thought we were going to put the lights up on the roof tonight.”

“Fucking narc,” Roxas grumbles.

Axel sticks his tongue out at him and wiggles his scarf out of Isa’s grip. “Yeah, fine,” he says. “I’ll meet you up there?”

“The lights are already out.” Isa waves him off, still holding the ornament just out of reach. Only once Axel has moved towards the stairs up does he lower his hand.

Roxas looks at him, frowning. “You’re no fun,” he says. “It’s just a joke. How come you won’t let me put the hedgehog up?”

“Because you’re not tall enough.”

“Huh?” Roxas’s frown shifts to something more confused as Isa takes a step towards the tree.

“I told Axel you weren’t going to put the hedgehog on the tree. After all, you can’t quite reach the place of honor it deserves.” Isa reaches up and hooks the hedgehog’s string on a branch right near the top, in the tree’s center.

Roxas steps back, to take in exactly how perfect the ornament’s placement is. “…he’s going to kill you,” he says, after a moment.

“Not if he wants to hang up any mistletoe this year, he’s not.” Isa brushes some pine needles off his hands. “I bought hot chocolate mix at the store,” he says, “and a new gallon of milk. See if Xion wants to make some of that with you and then we’ll have something to bribe Lea with once he notices.”

“I knew there was a reason I let you into my house,” Roxas says.

“I pay half the rent, you little shit.”

Roxas waves a hand and tugs his phone out of his pocket. “Yeah, yeah. Go help Axel with the lights before he falls off the roof, I gotta text the guys this.” The hedgehog catches the lights around it and it’s impossible not to notice, there’s definitely going to be a fight about it tonight, but for now he’s taken this Christmas victory and it’ll be going all over Kingstagram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually surprised this ended up as long as it did? I was fully expecting 500 words today. I guess stupid families are just easy to write?  
> One of my favorite headcanons is that Saix doesn't squint because he's mean, he squints because fucker needs glasses and is stubborn.


	6. Christmas Sweaters

“Xemnas!”

The voice bellows down the hall and Xemnas sighs. It’s never a good thing to hear, especially when he’s in the middle of something important. He puts the book he’s reading down and makes sure the shelves next to him are secured. A door slams open, a couple knick-knacks fall over, but nothing breaks which is a miracle.

“Guess what!” Ansem shouts, sliding down the hall. “I got you something!”

“Spectacular.” Xemnas carefully sets one of the ceramic wolves Ansem likes to collect back onto its feet before looking up. “What is it?”

Ansem holds up a plastic bag. “The girl child that is friends with Roxas showed me a department store today. And I bought sweaters!”

“Sweaters,” Xemnas repeats. “I suppose that is reasonable, given the recent cold front. And you bought one for me as well? How did you know what size to get?”

“We’re the same person.”

“Funny,” Xemnas says, “I believe I empirically proved that my chest is bigger than yours.”

Ansem glares at him. “Shut your mouth or I’ll return your sweater.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out something, a mess of grey and brown fabric, then tosses it into Xemnas’s face. With his honed reflexes, he catches it, of course, but a sleeve does swing out and smack him across the nose.

He tugs the sweater apart and starts to say something about its texture, but then he looks down at it as it unfolds and stops. “…Ansem,” he says, looking up again, “what the hell is this?”

The sweater is striped traditionally, with intricately stitched snowflakes, but between the stripes is a pattern of a most unholy nature. There are dogs lined up next to each other, long and with pointed little snouts, and they’re wearing all manner of holiday clothing, the red hats and outfits he’s seen in the stores. Stitched beneath them are the words ‘Walking in a Weiner Wonderland.’

Ansem beams at him as he tugs his own sweater out of the bag. “Olette said it is a Christmas tradition! I think I will buy one for Vanitas too.” He pulls his over his head, a much more subtle black color.

“To wear tacky and unflattering clothing?” Xemnas asks, eyebrow up.

“Yes! They have ugly Christmas sweater parties.” Ansem pulls at the hem and Xemnas can see that his is not nearly as stupid. It’s got a large Christmas tree on it, much more appropriate for the season, with the words ‘It’s Lit’ framing it.

“But what does this mean?” he asks, holding up his sweater. “What is a ‘weiner’ and what does it have to do with Christmas?”

“Ah, yes!” Ansem steps forward and points at one of the dogs on the sweater. “Olette also illuminated me to this. You see, there is a popular Christmas song called Winter Wonderland. And these dogs, they are long and brown colored, so they look like a food called a weiner, and thus they are called weiner dogs! Hence, the joke is that you are walking in a wonderland, not themed with winter, but themed with adorable puppies!” He grins and pulls his hand back. “It’s perfect for you!”

Xemnas stares at him. “Is it.”

“Put it on! We can match!” Ansem steps back to give him room and Xemnas sighs. If he refuses, Ansem will beg, and there is nothing more embarrassing than seeing his other half grovel like a child. This whole ‘redemption’ thing has really taken a toll on their image.

He shakes out the sweater and carefully tugs it over his head. Quite a bit of his hair gets stuck on the way out, but he’ll admit that the sweater does fit well enough, just a little tight around the wrists. And it _is_ soft. It’s soft enough that it may be worth wearing ‘Weiner Wonderland’ on his chest.

“See, it looks great!” Ansem tugs his phone out of his pocket. “Selfie!”

“Must we?” Xemnas sighs, but he sits up as Ansem leans down so he can get into the picture. Reflected in the phone’s screen, he’ll admit it’s not the most stupid thing he could be wearing, but he would probably prefer Ansem’s.

And then Ansem clicks something inside his sleeve and the entire tree erupts in lights, and Xemnas thinks that he actually got the better deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey Sam I thought you said this was all canonverse." Okay but look, look, Xemnas and Ansem being forced into the weird uncle villain role cracks me up. Clearly we dragged them back into their own replicas. I didn't do it with YMX, I controlled myself, BE PROUD OF ME.  
> But seriously, Ansem as the weird uncle of the Twilight Town kids kind of cracks me up. "Yeah he tried to throw me into a wall once but also he doesn't know what a caterpillar is so he's pretty chill."


	7. Sleigh Ride

Icicles hang from the chains that tie the Land of Departure together, clinking against each other like bells in the wind. The sky is cloudy and grey, like it could drop more snow upon them at any moment. Everything shimmers like crystals, the world is like a perfect snow globe, and Vanitas is fairly certain this is going to be the last thing he sees.

“We are going to fall off the world,” he says, motioning over the Land of Departure. “There is literally nothing but void below us. _Why_ are we doing this?”

“Because it’s winter and it’s fun?” Ventus sets the sled down and tests it with a foot, back and forth a few times on the snow. “Come on, I’ve gone sledding down this hill tons of times!”

“Yeah, you probably cracked your head open which is why you’re like this.”

Ventus sticks out his tongue. “Look,” he says, “there’s nothing down there but a couple bushes. The wall would stop us if we actually got far enough to fall off.”

Vanitas peers down over the snowy banks. “The stone wall, right.”

“We’re not gonna hit it, relax!” Ventus sits down on the front of the sled. It’s a little wooden thing, probably made by Terra which doesn’t give Vanitas much confidence in its ability. “It’s gonna be fun, so stop worrying about it and get on here.”

Vanitas steps around the sled, glaring at it like the death machine it is. “Clearly,” he says, “I took all the common sense in the split.”

“Oh fuck off,” Ventus says cheerfully. He pats the back of the sled. “One ride down, and then you can go freeze over or whatever the hell you want to do.”

He wants to not die, and refraining from concussing himself is also up there on that list. But Ventus is grinning at him and Vanitas can never quite say no. So, out of other arguments, he sits down. “This thing is pretty low to the ground,” he says. “The fuck am I supposed to hold onto? I’m gonna scrape up my knuckles.”

“Your dumb cat mittens should protect you,” Ventus says.

Vanitas looks at the mittens, little cat ears on each side with embroidered whiskers and eyes. “You’re just jealous Xion bought you plain ones.”

Ventus doesn’t answer that. “Hold onto me then,” he says instead. “Or go flying off the back and eat fucking snow, I don’t care.”

Eating snow is only slightly less appealing than wrapping his arms around Ventus. Vanitas’s face flushes, the cold clearly getting to him, and puts his hands on Ventus’s hips. “Alright, before I change my mind.”

Ventus grins, then looks back in front of them. “Three, two, one, go!” He pushes off and they tip slowly, slowly forward; and then they slip, and gravity brings them forward.

It sends Vanitas’s stomach flipping forward, and he leans into Ventus’s back to block his face from the flying snow. Ventus cheers and shifts to the left, whipping the sled around a large snow bank, and Vanitas shuts his eyes. It’s sickeningly fast and yet he also feels as light as air, like even his hands dug into the fabric of Ventus’s coat can’t ground him.

They bump over another snowbank, in the air for a few brief moments, and then land with a harsh thump and skid forward. “Lean over, lean over!” Ventus calls, and Vanitas opens his eyes to see one of the sled’s treads lifting upwards. He leans along with Ventus, gets them steady again, and is rewarded with a huge burst of powdery snow. The sled slows with the traction, and they come to a wet and sluggish stop, right before they hit the snow-covered bushes.

Ventus jumps up immediately. “That was awesome!” he shouts, throwing his hands into the air. “Just like I remembered!”

“I might be sick,” Vanitas mumbles. He curls forward into the warmth where Ventus once was and taps his soaked head against the sled.

“So that means you want to do it again, right?”

He tilts his face slightly and glares up at Ventus. “What do you think?”

“Cool, race you back to the top!” Ventus grabs his arms and tugs him back to his feet, then yanks the sled from him and books it. Vanitas rubs at his nose, to make sure the weird numbness isn’t frostbite, then huffs out his breath and runs up after him.

He’s got to make sure his other half doesn’t get himself killed on the way down again, however many times the dumbass wants to try it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one that's like, actually drabble length. Sorry it's a little rushed; I fell asleep today during the time I was supposed to be writing......


	8. Caroling, Caroling

Winter has transformed Radiant Garden into a Christmas village, a picturesque, snow-covered scene right out of a storybook. The wind is cold and the air is crisp, but the sun still shines and warms the streets enough that the children can come out and play, build their snow forts and laugh together and enjoy the innocence of the season.

Naminé should be enjoying it, too. It’s her first Christmas, her first _real_ Christmas; one may have passed during her first year of existence, but neither the Organization nor DiZ saw any importance in its celebration. Now, with her own body, own heart, and own freedom, she should be jumping to celebrate a season full of light and love and joy.

But the whiteness of the snow creeps around her like the whiteness of tall, empty walls and Naminé isn’t sure this is the holiday for her.

She tugs her jacket closer around her arms and takes a couple more steps down the icy cobblestone. Maybe she should just head to the castle; before they split up, Xion and Roxas determined it as their meeting spot for when they were ready to go home. Naminé is ready to go home. Both Twilight Town and Destiny Islands are such nice shades of golden-red and she would vastly prefer that. But even though the castle towers over the gardens, easy to see, it’ll still be quite a walk through the cold, monochrome scenery. Naminé breaths in sharp, frosted air and keeps moving forward.

She enters the main square and while the snow is still a blinding white, something in the air seems different. It takes only a moment for her to realize it: there’s music, echoing from the fountain. The light plucking of strings echoes over the plaza and, slowly, Naminé creeps forward. There are a couple people gathered around the fountain, mostly chatting to each other and not paying direct attention to the musician sitting on the lightly frosted stone. He’s not paying them any attention either; he’s got his eyes closed and his fingers on the strings of a large, blue instrument.

Naminé knows him, she knows he does, and his name is right on the tip of her tongue. But she can’t quite recall it—for a master of memory, she’s never had the best one herself—and for a moment she thinks that it’s better to just ignore him and continue on to the castle, instead of getting caught in an awkward conversation. But just as she steps back, the young man looks up, blue eyes flecked with hints of gold, and meets her gaze.

“Oh!” he says, stopping his fingers on a well-timed chord. “Hey, you! Uh, Naminé, right?”

Oh shit. Of course _he_ remembers _her._ Naminé rubs at one of her wrists, looking at the instrument in the man’s hands instead of his face. “Um, yes,” she says quickly.

He grins at her. “Good to see you. Like, outside the lab, I mean. You look way better now that you’re, like, alive, you know?” The grin drops slightly, and his eyebrows furrow. “I mean—no, wait, yeah, no salvaging that one, that was weird. Sorry.”

It sounds about as awkward as she feels so that’s a start. At least she’s not going to be making it any worse. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s nice to see you too, um…”

“Demyx.” The name sounds right the second she hears it. Ah, yes, this was a name often shouted around the lab, while she was still half-conscious and not quite reconnected to her heart. The goofy smile and the sound of soft music; right, she knows who this is. “So what are you doing back in Radiant Garden?” he asks. “Visiting the science family up in Castle Nerddom?”

“Oh, sort of.” Naminé pulls at her jacket sleeves again. “Axel and his boyfriend wanted to come visit, so they brought us and we were all going to do…shopping, I guess?” Really, she doesn’t remember what the others said they were going to do. “But I was going to go back to the castle. It’s…getting a little cold.” It’s true enough, even if it’s not her real reason. “What are you doing?”

Demyx plucks out a couple notes. “Eh, just playing some Christmas carols. It’s the season, right?”

Naminé tips her head. “What’s a carol?” she asks.

“You know, Christmas songs?” Demyx shifts his fingers and plays some notes that make up a clear melody line. “Everyone knows a Christmas song or two.”

Naminé frowns. “No, I don’t know any,” she says. “This is my first time doing anything with Christmas, after all. I’ve never celebrated it before.”

“What?” Demyx sits up a bit; then he brushes off some of the snow next to him and pats the side of the fountain. “Well, come here, we need to start educating you!”

That sounds mildly intimidating, but Demyx has always had a friendly air about him and so Naminé moves to sit on the fountain next to him. “Is it really that important?”

“It’s the most important part of Christmas!” Demyx readjusts his position on his instrument. “We’ll start with the classics. Like, Santa Claus. You know who that is, right?”

Naminé rolls her eyes without thought. “Yes, I’ve been filled in on that much.”

“Alright, well, there’s tons of songs about him.” Demyx plays a melody, then starts to sing. _“You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I’m telling you why—”_

“Sounds a little like a threat,” Naminé mutters, tapping her heels against the fountain.

“Oh, it definitely is. _He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake._ It’s not the most comforting song, but hey, people like it.” Demyx plays a few more melody lines, then switches his chords. “Uh, there’s also… _Up on the housetop, reindeer paws. Out jumps good old Santa Claus!”_

Naminé giggles. “Reindeer don’t have paws, they have hooves,” she says.

Demyx sticks out his tongue. “Okay, look, but it’s not Santa Clooves. The songs aren’t supposed to be accurate, they’re supposed to be fun. What else?” He taps his hand against the strings and with the position of his fingers, it makes a surprisingly nice sound. “Oh!” he says. “You should learn Jingle Bells. Everyone knows Jingle Bells.”

“Jingle Bells?” Naminé echoes.

“Yeah, that one’s not about Santa or home invasion or anything weird. It’s just about going on a sleigh ride. Ready?” Demyx turns back to his instrument and plays a simple melody. “I’ll sing it first, then the next line is the exact same thing. Ready? _Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh, hey!_ Now sing with me!”

“What, I—?” But the next line is already starting, and Naminé scrambles to join. “ _—bells, jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse…_ What sleigh?”

“Open,” Demyx laughs. “I don’t know. I didn’t make the words. If I did, the song would be a lot better. Like…” He clears his throat. _“Jingle bells, Ansem smells—!”_

Naminé snorts out a laugh. “Does he smell? I try not to get close enough to smell him.”

“He smells figuratively. You know, old man stink.” Demyx grins at her. “Okay, okay, let me try actually teaching you the words. You’re gonna at least know Jingle Bells before you go back to the castle and get roped into something complex like the Twelve Days of Christmas.”

“Twelve?” Naminé sits up. “But I thought there was only _one!”_

“That’ll be the intermediate Christmas carol lessons.” Demyx grins at her. “So let me just sing it once for you.” He plays a short intro and taps his foot to the beat. _“Dashing through the snow, in a one horse open sleigh—”_

Naminé finds herself bouncing along, and by the second time the chorus comes around, she joins in. She misses a couple words, laughs a little more than all the way, but it’s fun and the bright white of the snow doesn’t look quite as imposing anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. It's Demyx time.  
> (Also, apologies all these are coming at, like, the dead of night. That's probably not going to change--I close at work all this week.)


	9. Last Christmas

The lights are all out in the apartment, allowing the tree in the center of the living room to really shine. Both kids have gone to bed, or to their bedrooms, at least; Light knows they’ll be up into the wee hours of the night on their computers, taking advantage of the holiday from school. But Axel doesn’t mind so long as they stay put, and don’t ruin the atmosphere.

Isa’s laptop is across the room, but the Christmas music it’s playing reaches all the way to the couch. Axel tips his head to rest against Isa’s, eyes not closed but unfocused enough to turn the tree into a specter of lights. Neither of them have said anything for a while, just sitting in silence with the soft notes of music drifting around them; which makes it more than a little jarring when Isa speaks.

“Lea, when was the last time we did this?”

Axel sits up a bit so he can actually see Isa’s face. “What,” he says, “sat on the couch?”

It earns him an admittedly deserved flick to the nose and he makes a face like Isa pressed a button. “No, idiot. When was the last time we celebrated Christmas?”

That’s a dumb question, Axel wants to say, but the more he thinks about it, the less dumb it seems. “…I dunno,” he decides at last. “Did we celebrate at all, in the Organization?”

“I don’t believe it counts, when neither of us were us at the time.” Isa looks away, golden flecks in his eyes glowing with the tree’s light. No matter how many times Axel says he loves them, Isa will never view them, will never view the years that grew them, with anything but regret; and it’s too nice a night to ruin it arguing otherwise.

“So before that.” Axel brushes some hair out of his face. “We weren’t with Ansem long enough for Christmas, I don’t think. If he put as much effort into it as he did this year, I’d find that hard to forget.”

Isa shrugs. “I believe a great deal of this year’s festivities were designed to win the children’s forgiveness,” he says. Unsuccessfully, of course, they both know the children will never truly forgive him, just as they themselves will never truly forgive him, either; but it doesn’t need to be said. “But I think you’re right,” Isa continues. “I don’t think we ever had a Christmas in the castle.”

“So I guess…” Axel looks back at the Christmas tree, covered top to bottom in ornaments and glowing lights. “I guess it’d have to be before that.” He knows, can clearly remember Radiant Garden at Christmastime. The snow would come down and he always hated it, pretty as it was; but the lights, strung all around the trees and lampposts and fences, _that_ was something to be excited about. The townsfolk would do up the biggest evergreen with millions of lights, with tinsel and with ornaments the size of their heads, and then they’d leave the lights on all through the night. And no one would be looking, in the darkest hours of the morning, to see two kids slip over the fence, sit under the tree and look up through the branches. It was cold, the winters always were, but with the lights all around them, their arms pressed together, the warmth of Isa’s lips…for a night, it was easy to forget.

Isa hums, leaning into Axel’s side. “I wonder…” he starts. “Could we really count those, either?”

“Why wouldn’t we count them?” Axel lifts an eyebrow. “We had a tree, we had presents.” They always scrounged together enough for one or two, hid them across town in places they’d hope the other wouldn’t look. “It _felt_ like Christmas,” he adds softly.

Isa’s fingers intertwine with his. “I know,” he says, eyes back on the tree, “but I remember promising you a real one, back then.”

Axel snorts. “What makes this one more real?” he asks. “We payed for the tree?”

“That contributes a bit.” Isa smirks. “The lack of frostbite helps, too.”

“I always thought the frostbite helped keep things interesting!” Axel laughs. He bumps their heads together lightly, and doesn’t pull away once he’s there.

For a moment, neither of them speaks again. ‘Silent Night’ drifts out from the laptop. “…I really didn’t expect it to take this long,” Isa sighs.

Axel squeezes Isa’s hand, lips pressing into a frown. “It’s not like either of us expected what happened. Ansem was supposed to be our ticket out.” But life never works like that and things got infinitely more complicated, infinitely more twisted and horrid and dark before they finally wrapped themselves back into the light, back together again. “There’s always roadblocks, but we got here eventually, right?”

“…right.” Isa squeezes back even tighter. They breathe for a moment, to the beat of the song, and then he speaks again. “I think this tree is better than the one in the Gardens.”

“Yeah?” Axel shifts, tugs his hand free to wrap his arm around Isa’s shoulders instead. “I think it’d probably look better without that stupid hedgehog.”

“Mm, still not removing that protection charm.”

“Bastard.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Isa’s cheek. “But fine, we can keep the hedgehog, if it’ll make our first real Christmas as good as you imagined it.”

Isa smiles at him, always the warmest thing even in the coldest of their winter nights. “Yes,” he says, “I think it’ll be better than anything I could have dreamed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "hey Sam you missed a d--" I KNOW. I KNOW. You'll get two on one day to make up for it, but probably not until later this week with how work's been going. Sorry, guys, tis the season for exhaustion, I guess.


End file.
